

rom o 

, Q 3 8135 


190 ^ 



DENNIS E. GOMPF. 

« « 



1904. 


















LIBRARY ct CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 

JAN 25 1905 

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-CLASS C*s XXc. NOi 

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COPY S 


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Truth stand out in evident wonders, 

Facts, tho’ new, are always passing away; 
While fair the world, or foul amid thunders, 
Are there not subjects—subjects for aye? 


MY L0NG3NG MOOD. 

Longing for a subject on which to write 
Something to take up the time 
For to write, for me is a delight 

If the writing can be written in rhyme. 

Just for a subject, with some inspiration 
Combined, to make it more powerful and 
good, 

Lines of words, in rhymes, to move a nation. 
This is my longing mood. 




THE CARRIAGE PAINTER. 


Daub, daub, dip and daub, 

Sometimes exchanging brushes; 
Around the corners he first does bob. 
Then ’cross the panel rushes. 
Around the irons, the nuts and bolts 
His master hand does canter— 
Daub, daub, dip and daub, 

This is the work of a painter. 


The rough places are smoothed down 
With a piece of sandpaper. 

If he’s young and in a town 
He’s out at nights to caper, 

Mixing his colors to suit the taste 
Of another ’tho quainter— 

Daub, daub, dip and daub, 

This is the work of a painter. 


He fills up the holes and all the crack 
With a chunk of putty; 

He washes all the rigs and hacks 
That come in a little muddy. 

A good-natured fellow is he, 

He’s a joker, he’s a tanter— 

Daub, daub, dip and daub, 

This is the work of a painter. 


Steady he works ’till the work runs slack, 
Off every Fall ’till in the Spring 
You’ll find that he has gone back, 

At the very same old thing. 

He’s ready to color any man's eyes, 

A great hand to banter— 

Daub, daub, dip and daub, 

This is the work of a painter. 

He turns his wheel spoke by spoke, 

He labors with a will; 

He turns each story into a joke 
Until you have your fill. 

He has to be very feeble and old 
To have his voice grow fainter— 

Daub, daub, dip and daub, 

This is the work of the painter. 


SISTER’S SUSPICIONS. 


I often wonder who will be 
A brother-in-law just for ine; 

But then it makes sister so awfully hot, 
And, says she, “I guess it is not 
Anybody,” and says she, so very cross, 
“For awhile yet, I’ll be my own boss!” 

How well I like to laugh and tease 
When she flies up, as do flees; 

And throws a dish rag or a broom, 

When we talk of the coming groom. 

Oh, how well I like to hear her jaw, 

And say “Now I’ll just go and call Ma!” 


BATTLE OT THE WILDERNESS. 


Still fresh were the memories of Malvern Hill, 

Of Fredriclcsburg, Antietam and Chancellors- 
ville; 

When into Virginia’s wilderness so swampy and 
low, 

Forward into the “hell of war’’ to meet the foe, 

From General to Colonel down to the drummer, 

Was the motto: “We’ll fight it out if it takes all 
summer.” 

No cavalry dash, only the infantry’s butchery 
galore, 

No, never was done such fighting before! 

After five days of continual manuvering and 
fighting were done, 

Both sides announced a great victory won! 

Both in its glory, its losses did share, 

But to our knowledge no victory was there. 

The sixth day, all tired out, to the core, 

The tale of the battle was best told by its gore; 

’Twas a very dreary day we must confess 

When the Union army plunged into the wilder¬ 
ness. 


CORN HUSKING. 


At their chores they are hustling, 

Before the daylight, at early morn, 

The farmers are now husking,— 

Husking out their corn. 

The work to some is uninviting, 

Tho’ it is not so very hard; 

But they’re like a student reciting 
The rhymes of a melancholy bard. 

Of a family, take for instance, 

Say one girl and a boy, 

With a hired man and a hired girl, 

And the parents, what a joy! 

So in the forenoon, each man takes a shock 
In a seperate row, yet 
The father may leave the boy a block, 

Just for the pace to set. 

When they go to their dinner table. 

After the horses are all fed in the stable, 
And are eating, the old man says he’ll begin 
“This afternoon to haul some com in.” 

And so he does, but his son 
And the hired man husk on 
Till supper time, when they go 
In to eat again, when the sun is low. 

The dishes washed, 

The supper o’er, 

Says the mother 

“Could you make use of about three 
more?” 


“Yes,” says the father, 

“We easily could,” 

“Then I guess we’ll go,” 

“I wish that you would!” 

* 

And the boys now try a plan, 

Which was of a sort like this,— 

Will and the hired man, 

Each to have a girl and maybe a kiss. 

So up from his chair, 

Across the kitchen floor 
Jumped Will, who joined her there, 

The hired girl at the door. 

Then the parents followed close to their 
heels, 

And directly behind them as run the 
back wheels 

Of a vehicle, came unweary and unladen, 
The hired man and the maiden. 

When to the field walked the six, 

The hired man said to his girl “soc nix!” 

A cloud crept under the moon as a shield, 
Soon after they started to work in the field. 

Out of the house after dark, 

She said she was afraid, 

But she only wanted this eve to spark, 

Did this pretty young maid! 

And each had a pardner on his own row, 
The evening air cool and no wind did blow; 
And under the moonlight sky so clear, 
Where was a courtship e’er half so dear! 


The grand old mooli was slowly sinking 
Down in the fathomless west, 

Ere the old gent’ began a’ thinking, 

It is time to go to rest. 

‘.‘Will,” he said, “Oh Will,” he called. 

But William he only a little squalled; 

“See where the moon has already fell!” 
“Yes,” answered Will, with a yell. 

So, soon from their shock they parted, 

To the old people they slowly started. 
“Hurry up now, or we won’t wait, 

Don’t you see that it’s getting late?” 

He stumbled over a pumpkin, 

She stumbled over a squash: 

They fell to the ground and nearly sunk in. 
But he only said “By gosh!” 

To the girl these words her disapproval met, 
And as she softly tapped him on the head, 
Have you forgotten,--how could you forget 
What last Sunday 7 the preacher said?” 

The laughter echoed up at the barn, 

The old gent’ only said “Consarn!” 

He was not mad but filled with glee 
And ordered sung “My Country ’Tis of 
Thee!” 

Said he, “Each one may 7 try a separate 
verse, 

The hired man to sing his first.” 

Then with a voice so melodiously strong 
He sang his verse tho’ the words were 
wrong. 


“My sweetheart, ’tis of Thee, 

Sweetest girl I ere did see, 

Of Thee I sing; 

E’en by thy mother’s side, 

I’m on the other side, 

Will you become my bride, 

Unto Eternity?” 

Where hath music, sir, 

Any more greater charms, 

Then when you of ‘her,’ 

With ‘her’ in your arms? 

The old man sang next, 

Looked somewhat vexed 
As he began, 

This is what he sang: 

“My hired man ’tis of Thee, 

Thou who works for me, 

My surprise is immence; 

If you want my daughter, now 
Come , to me with a vow”— 

At this the dog barked ‘wow,’ 

At the cat on the fence! 

The chickens did cackle, 

The roosters did crow, 

As the old man went to tackle 
The poor dog with a hoe. 

When to the pump they came, 

Each husker took a drink of water, 
Went into the house at time the same; 
Hired ones, parents, son and daughter. 


Soon they take off their shoes, 

To go to bed to take a snooze. 

When nearly asleep, the father did say: 
“Consarn what’ll become of them some 
day?” 

The next morning ere 

The clock had struck four, 

Each one was there 
A* his particular chore. 

The boy said he got up too soon, 

And he went on whistling a tune; 

“Ought to be thankful,” the father said, 
“For a good home, and a good bed!” 

City lads and lasses too, 

Where’s the happy days since you’re 
bom, 

If you never, never knew 
Of the joys of husking corn? 


A FAT OWL. 


A fellow once worked for my dad, 

Well, I was then just a lad,— 

An old fashioned kind Pennsylvanian; 

A good story teller, a hard working man, 
Many an evening, very tired, he would come 
To the house, then ’twas his home, 

From the fields in which 

He was ploughing corn or digging a ditch. 

In the evening he'd sit and stories he'd tell, 
So one night as he came in from the well 
He heard a squeech in a near-by tree, 

“That puts me in mind of an owl,” said he. 
This question he asked of my Pa, 

But dad only looked kind of funny at Ma, 
Said he, to my father, whose name is Josiali, 
“Have you any fat owls out here in Ohio?” 

“I never knew or heard of any, 

There may be a few but they’re not many— 
Have you any of them in Pennsylvania?” 

“Oh yes,” said he, “Why one day 
One of our neighbors came over to my house, 
Asked me to help butcher a couple of sows; 
We’ll give you your dinner, try have some-] 
thing to eat, 

The rest you can take out in money or 


meat.” 


“Saying everything that I meant, 

Promised to go, so I went. 

“Before the hogs we’ll butcher the fowl,” 
And soon he drug out a big fat owl. 

’Twas dead, I asked where he got it, 

He then told me how he had shot it; 

That ever a man would a harmless owl skin, 

It looks too bad, almost a sin!” 

“He was so nice, so fat and yellow, 

We boiled him up just for the tallow.” 

His story to us now tho’ old, 

’Twas the best I believe he ever told. 

’Twas the fattest one he ever saw, 

I heard him tell it to my Pa; 

Said he, as on the floor he spat, 

“We got i61bs. of tallow without the gut-fat!” 


MY HINDU GIRL. 


From the wilds of India, a few days ago, I came, 
Where I had been on a hunt for some big game. 
I had went there 
To shoot at bear, 

Lion or even elephant, in the day light, 

And, I returned with the love of one, 
Whose skin was darkened by the sun; 

And sweetly I think of her tonight. 

Still you may wonder why I took that dark girl, 
I’ll tell how afore death herself did hurl. 

She wanted to become my wife, 

For she once had saved my life,— 

And this is the way 'twas done: 

In the heat of a torrid day, 

In the jungles of India, 

A Hindu girl my heart had won. 

I was passing along a singing a song, 

All at once filled with fear, something w r as wrong. 
I had heard a loud roar, 

Just as if a wild boar 
Was near me, and, soon it stopped, 

My rifle I let go 
Just for to show 
Him how it popped! 

I felt the thump of my own dear heart 
And thought from this world soon to depart, 

As again it did snort, 

And to snort resort; 

And still, I stood—quite shaking; 

And longed for my once sweetheart Pearl, 
But here is where I won my new girl,— 
And it seemed as if the earth was quaking! 


A maiden had witnessed my scare, 

Then with her hair 

A streaming down her back 
Came a running, came a running as any 
quack. 

“How do you do,” I .said,— 

Yet she could not understand 

Nor could I the language of that land, 

And faster t’ward me she sped. 

Whate’er it w 7 as I did not know, 

Rut I’m quite sure I let him go. 

Said I to the dame, 

“Please what is your name?” 

She only smiled but knew I was talking, 

‘Saying something,’ I s’pose that what 
she thought, 

But at the same time I didn’t know I had 
bought 

Her and her love. We went together walking. 

Walk, well we did, and I pointed to some smoke, 
She guided to it though knew not what I spoke. 
And the smoke w y as in a town 
Where she squatted down, 

Down on her knees she did fall 

And rolled and kicked, turned over,— 

For she said she was my lover, 

And every little bit she would give a wild squall. 

But what w T ill I do, 

With the little Hindu? 

She had such charming eyes, 

And she was just my size, 

And just the shape and form of a girl I had 
longed! 

Of her I remember yet, 

How I left her sit 

And wonder if I have really wronged. 


Only a few days it seems, 

Since love has had its dreams; 

But here I am 
Safely back again. 

Sweetly I think of the by-gone years, 

And while I sit and wonder who, 

Now, is the lover of my little Hindu, 
It but brings forth fond memory’s dreams. 


THE OLENTANGY. 


How well it swerves 
With graceful curves, 

It’s bends could be no rounder. 
With water clear 
And pure and dear, 

Reminding one of its Founder. 

Where wild grape vines climb, 
Where church bells chime, 

And grows the sycamore tree; 
Where wild flowers spring, 
And blue-birds sing, 

To Thee, dear old Olentangv! 

Where black-snakes creep, 
Where bullfrogs leap, 

Where flies the bumblebee; 

Where roosters crow 
Near by thy flow, 

Near Thee, dear old Olentangv. 

Where dogs do bark. 

Where flies the lark, 

Where the tom-cat gives a squall; 
Oh could I but be 
So near like Thee, 

The happiest of them all! 


Oh magic bound, 

Could I but drownd 
My troubled thoughts in Thee, 
And then go on 
As Thou hast flown, 

Dear old Olentangy! 

Where young lambs play, 
Where the mules bray, 

And are horses, cattle and swine 
Near the ripples of thee, 
Dear old Olentangy, 

A grave I hope will be mine. 


A man’s a duck, 

A luckless buck, 

An old sheep or a lamb; 
When says he, 

“I guess, for me, 
Nobody gives a damn!” 



EVE OF SPRING. 


How beautiful! Nature which knows no fear, 
The moon full at its most and clear. 

The glimmering crystals in the water, dance 
On its surface, ripple and prance! 

The buds in the moonlight, the green grass 
silent creep, 

While the freshet, o’er the precipices leep! 

See, the fish jumping in their play, 

Or listen to the geese gossiping all the day; 
Each expressing his own delight, 

All a speaking with all their might, 

All seemingly trying to say, 

Each in his own foolish way, 

“Is life worth living?” Ah, list’ dear, 

The frogs tell us “Spring is here. 

And the rabbit, as he goes to his rest, 

Laughs at the eggs which are in his nest. 


A FIGHT WITH A BEAR. 


Many years ago, a brave old hunter went 
To the northern woods. He had spent 
Many winters there, before, with 
An old pard’ whose name—just Smith. 

’Twas the winter of forty two, 

I don’t know exactly, but it will do. 

In a hut, they lived, built by their own hands, 
In the midst of the forest, in the woodlands. 
Every winter they would go 
To hunt and trap in the cold snow; 

Not in a strange country—but a country they 
knew. 

Nature’s landscapes, trees and animals too. 

Hunting in davtime, snoring at night, 

In their log cabin so far out of sight; 

Shooting, trapping skinning was life, 

Stabbing the bear with the bowie knife. 

Out in all kinds of the roughest, of weathers 
Ridding the birds of their once warm feathers. 

Eating their hunted meat, or eating their honey 
These poor old fellows were out for money. 

No books had they, for they needed them not, 
With but one skillet, and only one pot; 

But, for both bird or beast was a ready shot 
Aimed right on the most fatal spot. 


Continuing their cold labors day by da)' 
Trapping and hunting, both work and yet play. 
And of that winter of forty-two, 

A thrilling experience, I want to tell you: 

Well, as usual one fine wintery morning 
Those two hunters with cartridge belts adorning. 

Guns on the shoulders of their tightly buttoned 
coats 

They advanced into the woods like hungry 
coyots, 

Until they reached the summit of a hill, of ground 
Looking all about, and looking all around, 

But seeing no signs of game in view 
They decided to separate—those men, two. 

Well they did and nothing went wrong 
’Till all of a sudden a gun sounded bong, 

A bear, said he, did old man Wicket, 

And a terrible fight followed in that thicket; 

At first my heart was, as you’d call it, in my 
mouth 

And washed at that moment that I w’as farther 
South. 

I shot and stabbed the old she-bear, 

Most any part of her, I cared not w'here; 

She slapped and claw 7 ed with her strong paws 
And showed me her teeth of pretty white gloss. 
Oh w'hat a scrap of bear and of man, 

I want never to get into another again. 


Finally her fight stopped, she began to retreat 
And at the same time I took to my feet; 

To my comrade a whole mile away 
I ran, and told him of the affray. 

We went back to finish the bear, 

We looked for her but she was not there. 

We hunted for her when we got back 
Aud soon we were on the old bear’s track. 
Directly ahead, in an open space 
She looked squarely at us, in the face, 

So cunning, so bold did she stand and stare 
As to say, Are you both going to fight this old 
she bear. 

I’ll fight her if you will, said I, 

Giving my friend an earnest eye; 

Proceed, said I, said he, proceed! 

And there we stood and disagreed 
For a quarter of an hour there we stood 
Asking each other if the other would. 

Suddenly I stepped back and shot my gun, 

So did he. Both shouted mine, the bear was 
done, 

And I can see in my own imagination 
Plain as any light on the whole creation, 
Standing together, still standing there, 
Disputing the question, Who killed the bear? 


TO MY DOG. 


Come on old dog we’ll take a strole 
Down to where is the swimming hole. 

For the day is hot, never knew no hotter, 
And we’ll go and jump into the w T ater. 

When we get there at the pool 
We’ll try awhile to keep cool, 

And then, old dog, my faithful dog, 

We’ll drift awhile on a log. 

Swim around and maybe dive, 

’Till close onto half-past five. 

If you fetch back that piece of rail 
I’ll make }^ou the hero of my tale. 

We’ll say the rail’s a ship and full of men, 
And to save it a hero then! 

No courage though you must lack, 

If you go to bring it back. 

I’ll get on the raft and fall off, 

And, old dog when I cough, 

A signal of distress and for aid, 

Then show me stuff of which you’re made. 

A stone too I’ll throw in 
And say it was a diamond ring. 

Come on old dog be like a man, 

You’ll get it if }'OU can. 

And if we get tangled in a bur 
I’ll pick them all out of your fur, 

The cats we’ll chase on the way, 

For we’ll be out for the day. 


And then old dog if we’re chased by bees 
We’ll jump in again as tho’ they’d be flees. 
When at home through the heat, 

I’ll give you a piece of meat. 

If I get into a fight and am underneath, 
Show them that you have some teeth. 

Then on my old dog I’ll depend, 

For the old dog’s a faithful friend. 

Nearer six than half-past five 
When at home we would arrive. 

Oh what a joy when went way 

Down to the pond on a scorching hot day. 


OLO BILL WHITE. 


White was his skin and White was his name, 
And white were the words which won for him 
fame. 

A jolly old man on yon hill, lived Old Bill 
White, 

And to tell big stories ’twas for him a delight. 
His living he’d earned and a good one at that; 
His eye sight poor, nearly blind as a bat. 

When asked of him his critical view, 

Well, says he. Don’t give a damn if I do. 


Talk on any subject, no difference to him, 

One side he’d argue with wonderful vim. 

One evening as we all sat around in the store 
A hugging the stove and waiting for more 
To come in and join us in our evening meet, 
There was seen to approach an old man, up the 
street. 

’Twas old Bill White, and when invited in too, 
Well, says he, Don’t give a damn if I do. 


We were raised right up in the same neighbor¬ 
hood. 

.And of old Bill White ’twas said that he could 
Catch as many fish with the stories he’d tell 
As the devil’d catch men as fuel for hell. 

Stories this evening were for awhile a scarce 
article; 

It seemed as if no one at all cared a particle. 
Called upon old Bill for what he knew, 

Well, says he, Don’t give a damn if I do. 


Out started Bill in the height of his glory, 

Soon was ended his very first story. 

As usual he’d finish with the climax 
Right at the end as he plays down his jacks; 
Everybody now all stirred up ready to win 
The chance to tell the next one and try to beat 
him. 

Of every three turns Bill would take two, 

Well, said he, Don’t give a damn if I do! 

And soon Bill started one, ’twas about prayer, 
And soon all of us joined in, to find out where 
He did his praying or if he ever prayed. 

Says he, I pray after when upon the bed I’m 
laid. 

Some doubted the most, his every word; 

Some said, He never prayed as we never heard. 
Asked if he ever changed tic-tacks from the old 
to the new, 

Well, said he, Don’t give a damn if I do. 

Said he, of course you’d think it a sin 
But this is the way I usually begin: 

Almighty Father of earth and sky, 

Help me tomorrow to tell a big lie. 

We could not doubt it for he was at it now, 

And to start an argument was to start a row. 
Asked of him to answer a question or two, 

Well, says he, Don’t give a damn if I do. 


One of the questions which was put at him, 
Don’t you think your chances of Heaven are 
slim? 

He studied it over at its full scope, 

Said he, Where there’s life there’s always hope. 
It was for the boys down our way great fun 
As old White his white yarns he’d unspun. 
Adjourn, we would, sometimes at two, 

Well, said he, Don't give a damn if I do. 

He never missed an evening, sunshine or rain, 
And he never forgot to come back again. 

He was an honest old soul of an honest old type; 
’Twas the same when he left as when he came, 
his glasses he’d wipe. 

As we bid him good night sometimes we’d say, 
Well be good Bill and don’t forget to pray! 
Whether he did or not we never knew— 

Well, said he, Don’t give a damn if I do. 



BATTLE OF CEDAR CREEK, (VA.) 


Sheridan at Winchester, his army at the creek, 
While Barly handled the Confederate force 
with care, 

Advanced, attacked, and that good and quick, 
He drives the Yankees several miles to the 
rear. 

Twenty miles away was heard the cannon's 
boom, 

Twenty miles before him and his command, 
Sheridan’s horse soon, covered with foam, 
Gallops at full speed for to take a hand. 

The dust of the road gathers up like a cloud 
Under the hoofs of the warrior’s steed, 

For the rider and charger have allowed 
To get up in the fight with all speed. 

On, on they fly, each jump one jump nearer 
To the scene of the battle, yet they haste on, 
And the sound of the guns grows clearer and 
clearer; 

But what! says he, my men are gone! 

He finds that his men were driven back; 

He plunges his spurs into the horse’s side, 
For the Johnnies now have the Union camp to 
sack, 

Yet he, if possible, to turn the battle’s tide. 

Still flying onward he overtakes his men. 

Sheridan!—a cheer, and for his horse a cheer, 
As his steed, as a black demon comes up with 
them 

And is wheeled around, by them so near. 


He yells, as he raises himself on his horse, 
‘‘Turn boys turn, we’re going back!” 

His sword they see and quickly they course 
Once more to the attack. 

They follow their leader, they charge with ire, 
Forward they plunged headlong in the flame. 
Before they faced a rain of fire 
Behind, they left a reign of fame. 


CAPTURE OF LOOKOUT MT. 


’Twas in the year A. D. 1863, 

Not any less, not any more be, 

The Confederates from Lookout’s heights 
Beheld General Hooker’s men appearing as 
mites 

At the base of old Mt. Lookout; 

Yet understood not all ’twas about. 

Formed at the base of the craggy bluff, 
Upward they plunge, it was enough; 

Upward they went through weeds and briar, 
Forward they faced a deadly fire. 

Sturdily they climbed o’er rocks and roots, 
Some crawling almost out of their boots. 

Guns all loaded with bayonets fixed, 

Soon into the fight they hurriedly mixed, 
Almost unexpectedly they reach the top, 

But not even the crest would them stop 
’Till driving the rebels right straight o’er— 
Ah, where was victory more brilliant before! 


TO OLIVE. 


Once upon a time, ’tis said 
We were lovers, you and I: 

Perhaps ’twas so the day I sped 

Out to your home, to see you, did fly. 

The days—oh those days of youth, 

When friendship was dearest to both of us. 

When I could my troubles soothe 
Or quiet down a dreary fuss. 

Those eyes of blue I remember still, 

Those eyes whose charm so great; 

But now alone, I can but see my All, 

And ponder at my fate. 

You have not loved, but turned me down, 
What more could be expected, 

For there’s another in the town 
My fate to await—rejected. 

Aha, dear girl, let’s make it no worse, 

'Tis only for the better. 

Let old Time take his course 

And permit from me again, a letter. 

I am sorry it has come to this, 

That I, my troubles must tell 

To one from whom I can never expect a kiss. 
To one to whom I now bid farewell. 


Even tho’ we're parted—you love me no 
more, 

Let us not quit as enemies, 

Tho’ another you may adore. 

In love he may stay, in love he may 
freeze. 

Not leastly but at the last, 

Let us then at all ends 
Not be mad, nor forget the past, 

But instead remain as ever—friends. 


SELLING BOOKS. 


To tell it in rhyme, 

Well, once upon a time 
As all good stories run, 

I peddled books 
Depending (?) on my looks; 
Just for a little fun. 

Won’t you come in? 

This way they begin— 

Then in 1 go, quite bold, 
Slam the door to— 

I believe I once knew you— 
Yes, the day is cold. 

Won’t you have a chair, 

Well, what have you there? 

’Tis a book of the great fir 
The room grew quite warm 
For soon too, a heated storm 
When he called me a liar. 

No use with us 
Try to pick a fuss, 

That we do not do! 

Well the price is half 
When bound in calf; 

I’d like to sell one to you. 

Ah, well we know 
How the agents blow, 

For they all do lie. 

Well, others may do it 
But I never knew it— 

Oh no, not I! 


Show you, so you can see, 

Probably then with me, you’ll agree. 

No use at all, is it, Jane? 

Well, you ought to try it, 

You need not buy it,— 

But he shook at me his cane. 

And well I did know 
’Twas time to go, 

Said I, It’s getting late. 

As I took a look 
At the clock—the book 

The book had met its fate! 

We cannot read it, 

We do not need it, 

We don’t want it,—so 
Get out! For a girl or a boy 
It may be great joy, 

Well, we never thought of them, 
now go! 


There I saw 
The love of a pa, 

Or a papa, as you may call him. 
For his children dear, 

Who were so near, 

Some one ought to maul him. 

These little things 
To me it brings, 

Presents to my life. 

It looks up high, 

To a sacred tie— 

To me and my wife. 


A lesson then, 

It has been, 

Will I ever forget ray dear ones, 
I hope it never, 

It makes one shiver, 

No love for daughter or sons. 


He was known to be as mean as a pup, 
Well, they both lived in town, 

She’d ask him to call her up, 

But she’d only call him down! 

Down on the Equator, in the torrid zone, 
This way they talk over the telephone. 



OBADIAH AND MARI AH. 


In a corner he sat at close of the day, 

Disputing with his wife whether or not to move 
away. 

They were getting thin, in flesh so awfully poor, 

The neighbors advised them to try a sure cure. 
With him, it was all alright, 

For he was ready to start this very night; 

But not with his good old wife Mariah, 

Said she, if I was good enough to be born, 
then I’ll die in Ohio. 

Why what would you do with the cow, the 
pig and the horse? 

That’s quite simple—take’em along of course! 
But the idea, said she, to take them along 
Would only seem to me that you, as usual are 
wrong; 

And quoth Mariah, up quoth she, 

And where are you going, will you ever tell me? 
Then up spoke the old man, whose name 
Obadiah, 

Why any place, Mariah, just to get out of Ohio. 

Why we can move to the state of intoxication, 
Some say it’s the best, of all the nation; 

Or, said he, I’ll make another choice, 

A leetle bit farther on west and be in Illinois. 
Soon gentle Mariah took her old man by the 
arm 

Just to remind him that she owned the farm; 
Says she to her husband, says she, Mariah, 

If I was good enough to be born, then I’ll die 
in Ohio. 


Both retired at nine, their usual time to go to 
bed, 

'Bout goin’ way was the last words they said. 

In the morning Mariah still mad, awoke, 

But then Obadiali said, it was all a joke; 

And after this, when I talk of goin’ away 
Then I wish you, Mariah, would just say, 

Now please look right here to me Obadiah, 
Don't you think ’twould be best to stay in Ohio? 

’Twas about the middle of the next forenoon, 
Mariah at her ironing board whistling a tune; 
When about ten in stepped Obadiah in his way 
so quiet, 

But his very presence nearly stirred up a full- 
fledged riot. 

He had hardly spoken a word or two 
When swiftly past his head a flat-iron flew. 
’Twas but little he said, this man Obadiah, 

But said Mariah, if I was good enough to be 
born here, then I’ll die in Ohio! 


THE Y01NG PIANIST. 


My little lady sits on the piano stool, 

At first sight you might think her a fool, 
But ah, they tell me she has gone to a music 
school. 

There she is, and for her size 
With her glasses over her eyes, 

The results to one, is a surprise. 

Her eyes tlio’ poor, the music she reads, 

No one else helps her, she needs, 

No help as she calmly proceeds. 

0 

We ought now look out for a harsh note 
May settle way down in our throat, 

If it happens to be that way wrote. 

Sometimes she speeds, sometimes very .slow 
So then we hardly do know 
Whether it is the game or a jack, high or 
low. 

Sometimes softly, sometimes loud, 

Some notes timid, and others proud, 

Others pushing as in the rush of a crowd. 

We hardly know 7 what to do 
When she finishes at the end as she gets 
through, 

For w T hat to say we hardly knew 7 . 

So we asked her to play some more, 

And soon o’er the keyboard she tore— 
While we desperately thinking began to 
feel sore. 


At the end she turns for compliments, 

And we, trying to use our good common 
sense, 

Asked her kindly to play, “Cat on the 
Fence.” 

We could hear the old cat lick her paws, 

We could see his fur shine as of a gloss, 

We could hear him growl so very cross. 

A wail we hear, or perhaps a moan, 

As someone pulls his tail he begins to groan 
For his own tails sake he wants to be left 
alone. 

Finally he gets loose, away he runs, 

No more on the fence he stops and suns 
Himself, for he’s afraid of the young ones. 

Soon he reached the very next post, 

Jumped to the ground and in the weeds lost, 
And then we applauded our host. 

That’s grand, my friend said to me, 

I said, It sounds like Paderwski, 

And she, the pianist, let the compliments be. 


Fate, 

Always great, 
Does not wait 
To love or hate. 



ESAU BUCK. 


(A Parody.) 


'Twas way down in the state of Arkansas 
Where but little attention is given to law, 

A man whose sons had all grown up 
Hired, when all were gone, a man, Esau Buck. 
Said he, this Esau, the new hired man, 

For you I’ll do the best I can. 

He often said, as around his work he tore, 

I’d be willing to do just a little more. 


So on the very first working day 
The old man to Esau did say, 

There are some poles down in the woods 
And you’re the man to deliver the goods. 
So willing Esau with a team strolls, 

To bring him up the load of poles; 

The old gent had an awful cough, 

But he was able to help dump them off. 


Early the next morn ere the day did break, 
Esau, who w r as an early riser, arose wdien 
awake, 

'And no sooner was he out of his bed 
When to the old man went and smilingly said, 
What will I do for you this day? 

Well, was the reply, you may 
Keep the old ram out of the garden, saw up 
that wood 

And the rest of the day just try to be good. 


Esau hurries around, whistles and sings, 

And he hitched up for the old man who had 
to go to town after some things. 

And soon after the old gent had gone awhile, 

Esau with an old saw, went to saw up the 
pile; 

But the saw failed to saw to his claw-like 
hands, 

Even tho' to him his strength expands; 

So finally when Esau saw that the saw was 
no good, 

Said he, its of no use with this saw to try saw 
up the wood. 

/ 

The old man soon returned— 

Eagerly for his coming had Esau yearned. 

He drove into the barnyard when he got back 

And while unhitching his stubborn old Jack 

Says he to Esau, did you saw up the wood? 

But Esau shivered and said, I did the best I 
could. 

He put on his specks, for his eyesight was dim 

While Esau tried to explain the saw to him. 


Esau stood and at the wood and saw did stare 
While the old gent calmy said, that’er saw is 
no good I declare! 

But if I'd known that that saw went wrong, 
I’d just brought for you a new bucksaw along. 
At this the old lady, his wife, came out 
To see what they argued about; 

Said she, whom all had called maw, 

We’re clear out of wood and I wish someone 
would saw. 


So for his wife’s sake, that very same clay 

He sent Esau after a saw to a neighbor’s 
away; 

In due time he returned with a new bucksaw 

And handed it to the old man, better known 
as paw. 

Said lie, the old man, as Esau unhitched, 

If it ’aint a good one, I’ll be switched! 

And, says he to Esau, as this saws pretty good 

Esau Buck, here’s a bucksaw to saw up the 
wood. 

Into the garden the old buck his way had 
made, 

And Esau started after him with a spade, 

A slur the old buck seemed burr as he pranced 

Past Esau, and out of the garden quickly 
danced; 

For Esau was to keep from the garden the 
old buck out 

Or do next winter without good old sauerkraut. 

Now Esau for a moment not careing what he 
done, 

Stopped to examine the new saw as it glisten- 
in the sun. 

The old buck a smooth old buck was he, 

For he saw to get even with Esau Buck, a 
good opportunity. 

And while Esau bent looking the bucksaw o’er 

The old buck saw saw his chance to make 
Esau Buck sore; 

Then back he ran, as only a buck can, 

Towards Esau Buck, the new hired man. 

But Esau saw him coming clear 

And siezed an ax which was lying near. 



But the old buck saw Esau come at him, 
Dodged the axe and made Esau Buck’s head 
swim; 

And of all planets, including old Mars, 

None ever saw’ such numberless stars 
As Esau Buck fell on the bucksaw nearby; 
But the old man but saw T it and said, oh my! 
He then out to help Mister Buck 
Out of his bit of hardest of luck. 

But a very little better did Esau fare 
When the old man finally got to him there, 
For the old buck had him rightly dowm’d, 

So bound to pound Esau around and around. 
And when the men saw Esau couldn’t saw up 
the w’ood, 

They quietly left, declaring in the future to 
be good; 

Esau said something, it did draw r the old 
man’s attention, 

The rest may be guessed, for we care not to 
mention. 


WITH A SQUIRREL. 


I sat on the banks of a stream one day 
With my pole in hand a fishing away 
And a squirrel in the top of a tree 
Sat and looked down on me 

And soon he began to chirp and talk— 
At first I thought he’d only mock, 

Or perhaps just blink and gawk. 

But he kept on and at me fired, 

’Till I grew quite a little tired; 

And when I looked to him to ask, 

He only kept on faster in the task. 

How do you do my little friend— 

But he did only twist a little and bend 
But no friendship did he lend. 


Well, stated he, I do as I please 
In this warm weather or in a freeze 
I can eat and run and enjoy 
Myself far better than you, my boy! 

I saw he wanted to argue, so 
I just then quietly answered, No! 

And into an argument we did go. 

In a higher place am I than you, 

In this world so bright, so new; 

My friends I number by the score, 

And my children are all fat—all four. 

My wife she lives in the very next tree, 
Sometimes she conies to dine with me; 
She stays away more for we can’t agree. 


I thought ot my sweetheart and he read my 
thoughts, 

Said he, your love is blank full of noughts; 

If you would do as I have done, 

My advise take and your love is won. 

He went on to tell, tho’ seemed more to 
tease. 

I thought no more of his talk than of the 

trees 

Or the harmless hum of some harmless bees. 

Too soon the black cloud came along, 

Came up quite quick, came up quite strong, 

It came faster than I had come. 

With all my might, I flew ’towards home; 
And many times since I think of the squirrel 
For to argue with him was as good as a 
pearl; 

And many times since I think of the girl. 


ETHEL’S CHARMING MUSIC. 


When Ethel plays on the piano, 

Striking the different keys, 

You can hear her voice, soprano, 

Like the roaring of wildest seas. 

The frogs in the neighborhood 
Keep still as she begins to sing 
For the melody of her voice so good, 

Joy to their hearts does bring. 

The chickens their cackle do stop, 

As they hear her voice, 

As her fingers speedily hop, 

And their hearts rejoice. 

The horses quit their neighing, 

The cows their bellowing too, 

As Ethel, on the piano, keeps playing, 
And the dogs stop their barking, yes 
they do! 


TO AN OAK. 


How dear to me 
The great oak tree 
That stood in my mother’s field. 
The deed is made 
And I’m afraid, 

It also must gently yield. 

Still yet it stands 
It’s outstretched hands, 

Great limbs that tower above me; 
It’s drooping limbs 
Hum but the hymns, 

Like Voice which once did love me. 

Oh let me steal 
To thee and kneel 
In the presence of my God, 

Where tears may flow, 

Where a few years ago 
Were tears shed by but a tod. 


HIS FAREWELL. 


Goodbye dear girl, thus once said a fellow, 
No more we’ll stand out under an umbrella, 
Out in the storm of wind or of the rain, 

So farewell for we’ll never stand there again. 

I now have the love of another young maid, 
And as my declining love for you does fade, 
There is where I positively can go in, 

There is where a heart can always win. 

Farewell, farewell, the only hope of mine 
Is, that no more you might ever pine 
For me, for together tho' never fell 
Out, dear girl, I must now say farewell. 

Hushed in the storm of wind and of snow, 
For what element bids me woe as I now go. 
All for the better, I hope ’tis for me, 

All for the better and good luck to thee. 


MY LAST DESJRE. 


’Tis the songs I used to sing, 

When life was yet as a joyous spring; 
Earths joys to me no bounds did know, 
When I from infancy up did grow, 

And to help the thing along, 

Then it was to sing a song. 

Sweet the memories of the past, 

But they are only while we last, 

They are not after we are gone 
If we possess them as our own. 

Great it is to live at ease, 

Without torment, free from tease. 

Life’s work done lie down to die, 

And to breathe our parting right; 

Then let it not then be said, 

He is good, when he is dead. 

If a compliment is giving, 

Why not tell it while we are living. 

When at death’s door we come to, 

Then if you want to help me through, 
Then let me have my longing desire, 
And probably save me from the fire 
Into which are cast all the wrong— 

Oh give me a joyful song. 


MY FRIEND CROW. 


With great black body, great black wings, 
The crow sits on yon tree and sings, 
Whether ’tis love, or whether law, 

We cannot tell by his caw caw. 

And as he sits up in the tree 
He’ll caw for you and caw for me. 

He is up early in the morn. 

Maybe you’ll find him in the corn; 
Whether 'tis law, whether 'tis love, 

He’ll caw caw around us above; 

But cannot tell just what he says — 
Whether he means no or a yes. 

Cold weather comes, then he does go, 

•Fly to the south ere it does snow. 

No more then we do here him here 
With his own caw caw sounding clear. 

But you can bet with body black 
Next spring to see your old friend back. 

AUER THE CONTEST. 

When figures seek, 

Then figures speak— 

You know they can’t lie, 

The Blues ahead, 

Have downed the Red 
By great majority. 

The contest o’er 
The-great hall door 

Is opened for the Blues. 

For when they fight 
For what is right, 

Then how could they lose. 



They look so sweet, 

The Reds when beat, 

But no more they’ve said. 
Now you'll agree 
Along with me, 

I’d hate to be a red. 

Their mouths they lick. 
They do look sick, 

But what is the use. 

They would not tell 
They ever fell 
Down before the Blues. 

They said they’d give 
As sure’s they’d live 
If there’s no cheating, 
Right in this hall, 

A kind social 

If they were beaten. 

The fight is won, 

The Reds are done, 

Ready us to greet. 

While you ponder 
Took back yonder 
All in a back seat. 

Then cheer the Blues, 

Oh what’s the use, 

Some one back there said; 
Why then we’ll cheer 
For those who’re here, 

Blue side and the Red. 


^5 Jj 9Q5 


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